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I knew it. I just knew there was some magical, unknown force holding our family and our home together. Why am I not surprised to find out the magic pixie dust that is working so well is, dust.
A day of housecleaning unveiled this fact. First, there was the plaster that came off of a wall when I took down a tension rod. Then the toilet seat broke when I stood on it, to put the aforementioned rod back into position (ever so carefully aligning the paint and plaster back to its original spot). Then the slats on our kitchen blind broke when I scrubbed off the grease. For a grand finale, the computer died after it was vacuumed when my son replaced the power supply.
Then came the little things. I was just a little bit grumpier than usual when all of my freshly scrubbed surfaces became dirty so soon after I had cleaned them. Suddenly I was thinking of things as “my kitchen” and “my house.” When it is clean, it is mine. When it is lived in and swiped-down-as-we-go it is ours.
I don't like it when I hear married people talk of joint property with the word “my” as the possessive pronoun. I cringe when I hear this. If this is the word which spills off a person's tongue, I can only imagine the possessive self-talk that is ongoing in their mind.
Personally, I do believe I will try to hold onto a little bit of this perspective as I deal with the ongoing issue of dust and dirt. It is our dirt. And I will treat it accordingly.
If being obsessive overtakes my cleaning and turns “ours” into “mine,” I will know I have gone a little too far. Everything in moderation, you see. Even housecleaning!
